Vacancy
by Alice Marshall
Summary: My (incorrect) pre-Season-6 guess as to how Carter would move out of Kerry's place.


Vacancy(Originally posted to alt.tv.er.creative September 28, 1999.)  
  
A John Carter and Kerry Weaver story.   
  
The characters in this story belong to ER/Warner Brothers and are used without permission. No profit is made nor copyright infringement intended. This story is not to be archived or distributed without the permission of the author. Last episode seen at the time of writing was "Getting to Know You." Lyrics from "I Will Remember You" by Sarah McLachlan. Rated PG.   
  
Thanks as always to Susan and Michelle, my darling editors.   
  
Spoiler warning: Contains possible spoilers for season six, although I've taken some liberties, and I hope more than anything that the show does *not* play out this way.   
  
Vacancy.  
by Alice (aemarshall99@hotmail.com)  
  
____________________________________  
  
i'm so tired but I can't sleep,   
standing on the edge of   
something much too deep.   
it's funny how we feel so much  
but we cannot say a word,   
we are screaming inside,   
but we can't be heard.   
____________________________________   
  
Carter struggled with his key in the lock to Kerry's townhouse door, trying to balance the modest bouquet of flowers with the bottle of wine in his other hand. Finally the bolt slipped abruptly into place and the door creaked open. He stepped inside, and closing the door behind him, called, "Kerry...?"   
  
She emerged from the kitchen, a dishtowel slung over one shoulder. "Hi," she said eagerly. "Guess what...?"   
  
"I heard," he interrupted her. "Here. These are for you... congratulations."   
  
If it was possible, Kerry's smile grew even wider as he handed her the gifts, the bottle of wine and the bright flowers. "Thank you."   
  
"You're welcome." Impulsively, his arms encircled her in an awkward hug. She felt delicate and fragile, and a bit stiff in his arms, although she returned the embrace. He sensed her discomfort and his own, and stepped back, putting a comfortable distance between them.   
  
"I'm making dinner," she announced, to fill the silence.   
  
"Great, I'm starving."   
  
She grinned again, as she returned to the kitchen, and he headed downstairs to his bedroom. When was Carter ever not starving?   
  
She was a bit startled to see him, and even more so to have him return home with gifts for her. After all, she'd seen him leaving work yesterday afternoon arm in arm with that obviously attention-seeking woman, the one who was shrouded in fur and diamonds. And after waiting up most of the night, listening for the familiar sounds of his coming home and rummaging through the refrigerator for a late-night snack, wondering where he was, she'd finally seen him dropped off at work this morning by a shiny dark Mercedes. So she had simply assumed he'd be too wrapped up with this latest blonde diversion to think of her.   
  
But it was appropriate, she realized, for him to celebrate this triumph with her. He'd arrived here after she had lost the chief position the first time, and she wondered in retrospect if she would ever have allowed him to move in, had she not been feeling so vulnerable and alone that night. He'd looked so lost and so young, standing on her doorstep, and with the liquor glowing through her veins she'd cast aside all her carefully thought-out "rules" about renting to people from work.   
  
Regardless of how he'd come to live with her, he'd been a good, true friend. Perhaps, she admitted to herself, the closest friend she'd had in a long while.   
  
She was going to miss him.   
  
***   
  
Carter appeared in the door to the basement steps, and waited, silent, watching Kerry. She was stirring, tasting, adding a bit of this and that to the pots on the stove. He was so relieved, so thrilled, to see her this happy and this relaxed.   
  
"Can I do anything to help?"   
  
She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, then recovered. "I think you already know the answer to that one, Carter," she told him teasingly. She never allowed him to interfere with her cooking. Previous disasters had led to a sort of truce in the kitchen; she cooked, and he washed the dishes, under close supervision.   
  
"I know, but I have to ask," he reassured. He had changed, she noticed. Gone were the solemn dark tie and dress shirt and suspenders; in their place was a comfortable-looking navy sweater that set off his smooth pale skin, his recently cropped hair.   
  
Satisfied for the moment with whatever delicious concoctions were simmering on the stove, Kerry turned her attention to the bouquet he'd brought, unwrapping the green tissue paper carefully. They were lovely, real flowers from the florist, not the wilted grocery-store type. Carter knew the importance of quality.   
  
"Could you get a vase down for me? That cabinet, above the fridge," she pointed out.   
  
He nodded, and holding the door open, showed her several choices until she was satisfied with a round bowl-like vase of pale green glass. Then he watched, entranced, as she artfully arranged the flowers, cutting stems with a large pair of scissors, and adding each to the vase in turn. He wondered, as he watched the arrangement take shape, whether she had a master design in mind from the start, or if it just sort of "happened."   
  
When she had finished, she placed the vase prominently on the edge of the counter, then reached for the glasses of wine that she'd poured earlier. She handed one to him, the blood-red liquid glowing in the warm light of the kitchen, and both sipped tentatively. "Mmmm, nice," she complimented his selection.   
  
He helped her carry the various pans and serving dishes to the table, then pulled out her chair before she sat, a comfortable routine.   
  
He felt warm and secure.   
  
***   
  
They were halfway through dinner when Kerry gulped the rest of her wine for fortitude. "So, I have to talk to you about something."   
  
Carter glanced up curiously from cutting his chicken, unable to anticipate what was on her mind. "OK.....?"   
  
Kerry took a deep breath. "Remember how I told you when you first moved in that I don't usually advertise my apartment at the hospital, because living with someone from work might be... awkward?"   
  
She watched his shoulders tense, watched him set his knife and fork down carefully. "Yes?" he asked cautiously.   
  
"What I want to say is -- now, with my new position -- it *is* awkward."   
  
His forehead furrowed. "I don't understand." He wanted to be sympathetic, wanted to be accommodating of her wishes. After all, today was supposed to be her day.   
  
'You don't?"   
  
"No, I don't. Nothing's been awkward for me." In fact, he was surprised it hadn't, for instance, when Roxanne first spent the night, but she and Kerry had been like old friends at once.   
  
Kerry scraped a puddle of leftover salad dressing to the edge of her plate, searching for the right words. "Nor me," she admitted. "But now things will be different. I'm going to be responsible for supervising you..."   
  
"Oh, I see. And you don't want there to be any suggestion of..." he finished for her.   
  
"Bias. Special treatment. Right. So I think it would be best if... if you didn't live here any more."   
  
The words stung Carter. Didn't their friendship mean anything to her? "Hmm. Now why exactly would you want to give me special treatment?"   
  
"Other people don't know what goes on in this house. They don't know that you and I have always been... professional. They might assume things..."   
  
"Oh. Some kind of impropriety."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Like we were sleeping together...?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Well, what if we *were*? Sleeping together?" he inquired.   
  
The question hung in the air for a split second. An invitation? A challenge? A joke? Kerry's expression momentarily changed from smooth and composed to flustered and confused, then back again. "That would be impossible," she said calmly.   
  
"Impossible?" Carter stood up. "Well, thanks Kerry, thanks for that. I came home, to help you celebrate this important day in your life, to be your friend, and here's the gratitude I get."   
  
"Carter, I --" she tried to interrupt.   
  
"I'll be moving out tomorrow, then." He paused at the basement door. "Congratulations. Enjoy your new job."   
  
The slamming of the door hit Kerry as though he'd slapped her across the face.   
  
____________________________________   
  
i'm so afraid to love you,   
but more afraid to lose,   
clinging to a past that doesn't   
let me choose.   
once there was a darkness,   
deep and endless night,   
you gave me everything you had,   
oh you gave me light.   
____________________________________   
  
Carter paced around the small room, feeling incredibly claustrophobic, until he finally tired and flopped on his bed, lying and glaring up at the ceiling. Glaring at Kerry in his mind.   
  
He thought of calling Elaine, but she had previously arranged to attend an art opening that evening, and they had agreed instead to meet tomorrow night for dinner.   
  
Elaine.   
  
He had only met her once, briefly, at some family occasion, perhaps one of his grandparents' birthdays years ago. His cousin Elliot had clung tightly to her hand, seeming even younger than his twenty-three years, as the family outrage swirled around them. Elliot and Elaine had met in a hotel bar in Las Vegas, two lost souls, similarly smothered by privilege and wealth. Perhaps under the influence of more than alcohol, Carter now realized, the pair had been married that same evening. But the annulment had been just as rapid, once Elliot realized that Elaine was almost old enough to be his mother, once he was over the "you can't run my life for me" bravado and allowed Gamma to convince him that Elaine only wanted him for his money.   
  
So Carter had never seen her again. Until yesterday.   
  
She looked different somehow, a bit softer, her makeup more natural and her clothes a bit looser. She still reeked of wealth and self-importance, of mystery, of exotic secrets. And he was captivated by her.   
  
Later, it occurred to him that perhaps she reminded him at first of Abby, the same silky blonde hair framing her face, the same allure of someone older and more experienced in life than he. But she was nothing like Abby in bed... no eyes meeting, no hands clasping, no whispered words of affection... technical skill rather than emotional intimacy. Afterwards, as she'd sat across the room from him, smoking a cigarette, he'd felt almost cold.   
  
Yet that too was nothing new... it was what his relationship with Roxanne had been like, and that had lasted almost six months. Looking back, Roxanne had been closer with Kerry, in some ways, than she had with him.   
  
Kerry.   
  
He looked around the room and pictured the rest of her apartment upstairs. Home. That's what this place had become, home to him, so much more than any of his parents' apartments in various international financial capitals or his grandparents' austere mansion. Kerry, with her absurd early-morning cheeriness and her fascinating CD collection, her terrible-tasting health shakes and her eclectic knick-knacks, was home.   
  
And he was leaving.   
  
He felt an emptiness wash over him, the same terrifying inner chill that he'd felt when Anna sat across from him in Chase's room at the Kenner Institute and told him she was going back to Philadelphia with Max.   
  
Somehow, despite all her wavering and hesitation, he had never doubted the strength of his friendship with Anna, never doubted that eventually friendship would blossom into love. But really, he discovered, he hadn't meant much to her, at least not enough to overcome whatever unfathomable influence Max had over her.   
  
And apparently he hadn't meant much to Kerry either, not enough to overcome her unflinching adherence to ridiculous self-imposed ethical standards. He supposed she had just been tolerating him all along, trying to put on a brave face and all the while regretting her decision to let him move in, just waiting for an excuse to get rid of him.   
  
No, he told himself.   
  
He might have been wrong about Anna, seeing things only the way he wanted to see them, blind to the one-sided nature of the relationship. Anna might only have felt pity for him, because of Chase. But Kerry... Kerry had opened up to him in a few short months of living together. She'd told him about her parents, about Ellis, about the search for her birth mother, about her time in Africa. She'd let him into her world, and he had been unsure how he merited her trust, her intimate confidences.   
  
Now he was equally unsure what he had done to un-merit that favor, or how to win it back. All he knew was that he would miss Kerry, more than he had dreamed possible.   
  
Finally, Carter forced himself to stand up. It was time to start packing... again.   
  
***   
  
Kerry stood at the window, watching the rain, enduring the emptiness in her apartment, and in her heart.   
  
He had left with the last box of his belongings, piling them into the trunk and the backseat of Elaine's Mercedes, about half an hour ago. Since then, she had been watching, waiting, hoping for... she wasn't certain what.   
  
For him to come back and apologize, Kerry? When you're the one who told him to go?   
  
Their leave-taking had been curt, formal; forced goodbyes and her spare key returned in a white envelope. There had been a terrible finality to the exchange, reinforcing to Kerry that all their small intimacies of the past months were suddenly demolished.   
  
She cursed him for behaving so childishly, for misconstruing her intentions. If only he'd been calmer, listened, tried to see her perspective... after all, she'd intended this change for his own good. For the good of his reputation, and hers.   
  
What exactly had she expected of Carter, anyway? For him to have left quietly, agreeably, without protest? Thereby silently confirming that their relationship--that she--hadn't meant much to him?   
  
Or for him to have insisted, fought harder, convinced her that she was wrong?   
  
She dropped the curtain, limped into the kitchen, opened the liquor cabinet and fixed herself a drink. Then, hobbling back into the living room, she glanced idly at the rack of CD's. Well, now she could play any of them, at any hour of the day or night, without comments or complaints from Carter. Following a generous gulp of the Scotch in her glass, she grinned wryly to herself. She could walk around the apartment half-naked if she wanted to...   
  
...and yet, there would be no one to cook dinners for, no one to fight over the remote control with. No one with whom to talk over the day's events late into the evening. No one to console, no one to listen when she needed consoling.   
  
She sat down on the couch, and suddenly, she was weeping. Somehow, she'd done it again, ruined her personal life for the sake of her professional life. Inadvertently, or subconsciously, she wasn't certain which, she'd pushed Carter away just as he was beginning to get close.   
  
Pushed him into the arms of that blonde woman... Elaine. Ironically, he would, right at this moment, be unpacking his things at Elaine's apartment. Laughing at something she'd said, or making her laugh. Glancing over at her, smiling with that charming, heart-melting grin. Perhaps sharing a drink with her, or turning on some music and pulling her into his arms to dance.   
  
Carter hadn't needed Kerry. She'd needed him, more than she realized.   
  
She dried her eyes, downed the rest of her drink, then got up from the couch to turn off the living-room lights, to check the lock on the front door. It was time to go to bed, although sleep might be a long time coming.   
  
The Chief of the ER, after all, needed her rest.   
  
***   
  
"To throw away the dearest thing he owed,   
As 't were a careless trifle." -William Shakespeare   
  
____________________________________   
  
i will remember you,   
will you remember me?  
don't let your life pass you by,   
weep not for the memories.  
  
-Sarah McLachlan  
____________________________________   
  
Fin. 


End file.
